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I decided to give the bathroom a really good cleaning today – mirrors, pictures, removing everything from the counter top and wiping it down, getting the pipes under the counter, and then I tackled the shower doors.

I hate shower doors. If they are clean, they give you no privacy, and if they are dirty – well, they are just dirty. We have a well, and hard water, and the entire shower is in constant need of a good scrubbing, even when you’ve just finished. We had three daughters and they zipped in and out of the bathroom, like a college dorm, not to mention the dog shoving the door open to see what was going on. This could be a bit awkward when The Squire was the Occupant.

Our wallpaper has blue gingham accents, and I suggested hiding the doors behind a curtain suspended from a tension rod. We already have a curtain hiding the toilet, which the architect cleverly put directly in the line of vision of the dining room door, so this would not be a Big Deal.

No.

Perhaps if I suggested cleaning the blasted door is his job, we’ll have a better response next time the matter comes up. We’ll see.

Yesterday, The Squire climbed a ladder and replaced one of the flood lights that shine across our back yard. Unfortunately, in the process he dropped the glass from the old one, which shattered when it hit the ground.

Luckily it was made of safety glass, which breaks into small, relatively harmless pieces, but I was a bit concerned that the birds might be attracted to the shiny bits, and since I go barefoot most of the summer, that I might step on a piece and cut my foot. No fun.

I spent a fair amount of time today with the Dust Buster, vacuuming both the driveway and the grass under the light.

Due to some changes in my meds, I have put on a good bit of weight over the last few months. I managed to find one pair of jeans at the local thrift store, and I pretty much wear them until they walk into the laundry by themselves.

Tuesday, as I was going into Bible Study, a friend mentioned that I must have just come from doing yard work because I had mud on my knees. Those who know and love me – or even just know me – realize that yard work is not in my vocabulary. I had no clue, but I was rather pleased that the jeans seemed a bit loose in the waist, and hoped that the strict diet I have been following might be having some effect.

Last night, I dragged a box of summer clothes out of the attic and after several tries, I finally found a pair of slacks to fit me, so I dumped the jeans into the wash.

I discovered today that I had been wearing The Squires pants for the last week.

The opening hymn this morning was Glorious Things of Thee are Spoken, which was our processional hymn when The Squire and I got married. The rector didn’t know that, but it was quite obvious I was not feeling well, and he knows I’m German, so he began singing Deutschland, Deutschland über Alles in my ear, just to make me laugh. We both sobered up by the time we got halfway down the aisle.

I had a great deal of difficulty moving around; at one point the rector had to almost lift me up bodily when we knelt for one of the prayers. When I go up and down steps, I am always careful to put my left foot down first. Except this morning, when I stepped off the altar on my right foot and nearly fell into a parishioner. So graceful. Fortunately, the man managed to reach out and steady me before any damage was done. I just hoped everybody else had their eyes closed in prayer as I tried to somersault over the communion rail, but no such luck. Well, they are all used to me, so nobody pays much attention.

Several people asked me how I was feeling, or told me I looked as if I was not doing well as we were shaking hands at the church door.

Good days. Bad days. Thank God, the good ones still out-number the bad ones.

As much as I love him, I must tell you The Squire does not appreciate spiders.

This morning when I watered the papyrus in the living room (almost warm enough to put it outside, now) I pulled off a few dead “flowers”. Having been warned at Christmas not to put them into the fireplace, I carried the flowers into the kitchen and dropped them into the trashcan. A while later, I heard a screech and a thump from the kitchen, and rushed in to find The Squire leaning against the counter, holding his chest, and laughing hysterically.

He had opened the trashcan and been scared out of his wits by the biggest spider he’d ever seen!

Yesterday afternoon I finally finished up a basket of ironing that has been sitting around since the flood – well, Christmas, anyway. As I put the empty basket in the hallway before I went back downstairs, I heard an odd noise. I checked to see if I had left a pin or a bead in the bottom of the basket, and then realized that the noise was coming from overhead.

Snakes in the attic. Shades of Voldemort, and all that jazz. They make an odd dragging noise as they pull themselves across the floor boards. Even if you’ve never heard it before, you know.

When The Squire came home, he took a look upstairs, but you certainly don’t get any results whispering, “Here, snakey, snakey, snakey” so that was a bust. Well, the attic is not very well insulated, so I’m sure if it hasn’t already left, it will when things heat up.

With most of the rest of the world, The Squire and I sat in shock in front of the computer screen last night, watching the Boston Horror unfold. Yesterday was a holiday in Massachusetts – Patriots Day, the anniversary of the Battle of Lexington and Concord, and the beginning of the American Revolution, the original “shot heard ’round the world”.

There isn’t much for me to add that hasn’t already been said. One spectator happened to be looking in the right direction at the right time, and saw a trash can explode, and the police found two more devices in the area. The was a report this morning that they had “visited an apartment” in the course of a search, so perhaps there were clues in the unexploded bombs. General opinion is that this was a “home-grown” event, not an international one, but the public is just going on what we’ve heard. Obviously, a police and FBI investigation has to be done “close to the chest”.

The race itself draws people from all over the world, and it was uncomfortable seeing national flags dropped to the ground and disregarded. Don’t worry; we will pick them up and treat them with the respect they deserve, but we are busy tending to the wounded and maimed right now. Maybe some of them are your citizens.

At one of the news conferences, a reporter actually asked either the mayor or the chief of police – can’t remember – if this was a government plot to “deprive us of even more of our civil liberties”. I have to say, the answer she got was a lot more “civil” than she’d have gotten from me!